


Always A Father

by CarminaVulcana



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Life as a widower, Loneliness, Parental joy, Single Father, father/son bonding, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21629845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarminaVulcana/pseuds/CarminaVulcana
Summary: Amarendra Baahubali is like a son and a father-figure to the people of Mahishmati. What happens when fatherhood truly knocks at his door? How does he raise a child when the love of his life has been snatched away from him by the very people who claimed to love him?
Relationships: Amarendra Baahubali/Devasena, Avantika/Mahendra Baahubali, Bijjaladeva/Sivagami (Baahubali)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Always A Father

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RandUs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandUs/gifts).



Matters of the state were a source of stress for him these days. He was expected to meet with the ambassador from Jwalarajyam in a few hours, but all his focus was on the royal nursery and its young inhabitant.

“Maharaj, your attention seems somewhere else today,” Katappa said.

Amarendra Baahubali rubbed his eyes tiredly and stopped writing.

“You are right, Katappa,” he acknowledged. “I can’t really think about anything else right now. Mahendra is sick and I am rather worried.”

“It’s just a cold, sire. All children get colds.”

“Yes, but Mahendra gets sick far too often.”

“The midwife says it’s because he didn’t get any mother’s milk,” one of his personal royal maids remarked as she brought in a cup of hot milk for the king. “The royal physician says you need to remarry, sir. You cannot raise a child by yourself.”

“Nanditha!” Baahubali stopped her before she could say anything else. “I have never placed restrictions upon what you or any of the other staff can say to me. But I draw the line here. Please don’t bring this up again. Or else, you will lose your job.”

Nanditha shook her head at Baahubali’s obstinance. She bowed wordlessly and left.

Amarendra hated this limbo that he and his son existed in. Despite being in a palace full of people, they were alone. He always wondered what might have happened had things gone differently that fateful night.

_“Mama, no,” Devasena’s panicked yell reached his ears as he fended off yet another barrage of arrows. And just then, a heavy impact on his back—not of a weapon. He almost lost his footing. He turned around; only to see the bloodied form of his beloved wife, clutching her belly as she bled out from the fatal wound._

_“DEVASENA!” He shouted. But her eyes were already fluttering close. Four arrows found their mark on his own back but he dropped to his knees and held his wife’s head in his lap. His eyes looked up to see the blood glistening on mama’s sword._

_“Why?” he whispered._

_Katappa did not answer._

_“Baahu,” Devasena’s soft voice called out to him… “Baahu, look after our son.”_

_“No, you cannot leave me, Deva, no…” Heartrending sobs shook his frame as the flood of tears from his eyes rolled down his face and drenched his beard._

_“Stay strong, my love. I am always here.”_

_She said no more._

He indeed saw her everywhere that night. In his own rage that reduced Bhallaladeva to an unrecognizable mass of flesh and blood. In Sivagami’s shame as she stepped down from the position of the Queen Mother. In Bijjaladeva’s grief when he saw the remains of his son’s body. And in the relief that only came from Mahendra’s reassuring cries as he screamed for milk.

Mahendra. His last link to the only true connection of his life.

The midwife suggested goat’s milk for the infant. A wet nurse from could have been arranged from a nearby village. But he didn’t trust anyone. Even now, he milked the goat himself and fed his son with his own hands.

As much as he loved and respected Katappa, the old man had lost his trust the moment he agreed to commit murder on Sivagami’s orders.

A rational part of Baahubali’s mind knew he was being needlessly harsh. It wasn’t Katappa’s fault that he was bound to the throne.

But that did not take away from the bitterness of that night. Nor did it lessen the pain of what had been lost forever.

Every breath he took, was a moment stolen from Devasena’s unlived years. Sometimes, he wished he had been killed that night instead of her. Perhaps, then, she would have taken Mahendra and run away. Perhaps, his son would have grown up in a small hamlet somewhere, unbothered by the burdens of Mahishmati’s crimes.

And yet, all his wishful thinking was of no use.

Baahubali could only do his best as a single father. And Mahendra would have to learn all about his mother from his father’s stories.

“Katappa, I am going to the nursery,” he said and stood up. “When the ambassador from Jwalarajyam arrives, you can take them to the guest suite. I will see them in the evening.”

“As you say, Maharaj,” Katappa bowed and saw the king out.

In the nursery, Mahendra slept peacefully in his cot while the royal physician sat on a daybed and mixed a neem and turmeric concoction for the baby.

He stood up when Baahubali entered.

“Is the medicine ready?” the king asked.

“It is, sir. Would you like me to taste it now?”

“Yes, please.”

Eight months ago, Mukundaraju would have been insulted at the insinuation that a medicine made by him could be poisonous. But seeing Baahubali’s extreme fierceness and his total distrust on everyone, he could hardly refuse.

Besides, there was every reason for this lack of trust. Already, in this eight-month reign, there had been six attempts on his life.

Without complaining, the physician took a small amount of the medicine on his hand and ate it.

When nothing happened for a few minutes, Baahubali allowed him to leave.

Soon, he was left alone with his baby.

The royal nursery had every kind of rattle and toy a small child could want. Delicate figurines of cats, dogs, lions, and elephants hung from the upper bar of the crib.

Mahendra looked comfortable swaddled under two fleece blankets. His nose was a little red but other than that, his cold seemed better.

Baahubali placed his hand on his forehead and brushed the hair away, marveling at the sheer perfection of his brow, the curve of his eyes, and his puckered lips that resembled his mother’s.

For several hours, the king feasted his troubled soul on the child’s gentle face. The storm of betrayals, pain, and loneliness seemed to calm down in this little sanctuary, where each moment was punctuated only by the snores of a napping infant.

In the evening, Katappa came to summon him.

“Sire, the ambassador of Jwalarajyam requests to see you.”

“Tell them to wait in the hall of private audiences.”

A few minutes later, Baahubali made his way to the meeting chambers with his child in his arms. For the staff of the Mahishmati palace, it was business as usual. But for the foreign dignitaries, it was quite a sight to see; a king feeding a baby from a bottle while discussing the purchase of razor-thin alloy sheets for the armory.


End file.
